Every Burned Book Enlightens the World
by Melancholy-Arts
Summary: A cross over with the Hetalia characters Alfred -America- and Arthur -England- with the book Fahrenheit 451 and the short-film 2081.


**Warning: **Violence, fire, bashing of the government, book burning, language, thoughts of suicide, thinking

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia, nor its characters in anyway, shape, or form. I also don't own the ideas of _Fahrenheit 451 _or _2081, _which was what this story was based off of.

**Pairing: **America x England

**Summary: **Set in the 'future,' the people of the city find themselves not worrying about silly things like thinking and emotions that make them upset or worry. They merely rely on the fun the government allows them to do. Books are forbidden items, thought to be filled with nonsense and thinking, and so the Firemen come to burn and rid the people of the false words the pages tell. Except for one Fireman. Alfred Jones finds himself thinking, and when he meets the so called madman Arthur Kirkland, his world changes for what may be the better, or perhaps the worst sicne he's now going against the government that he, for so long, had trusted.

**Author's Notes: **Just a little cross-over that involves my favorite things, USUK and _Fahrenheit 451_ and _2081_. The chapters of this may or may not be updated quickly, so bear with me. Also, I switched accounts, so that's why this story was deleted from my old account and is now being re-uploaded here onto my new one.

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

The Firemen were there. Tearing, ripping, shredding apart his home in search of the illegal objects the Englishman's residence held within its old walls.

The owner stood, horrified, as he watched his home being destroyed by these men—once civil men. They seemed to have come out of the dark and forced their way into the house. His mind couldn't comprehend what exactly was happening, not even when they knocked down the front door and began their hasty search without any noise in advance or warning beforehand.

It wasn't until the men started to force down the locked basement door, the one which the Englishman held all his secrets behind, that it clicked—the books.

Arthur Kirkland owned enough books to put him away for probably a lifetime, and he had read every single one of them, if not twice even. But, to the government, his mind was corrupt with false information and beliefs and stories that all those beloved pages told him time and time again every time he would flip one open for a good read.

The basement door broke down within minutes of the firemen's attempts and men flooded down the stairs, entering into the secret library of what would now be ancient artifacts of a past history which now lay burned and forgotten in the peoples' minds. They were too busy with silly TV shows that flooded their parlor walls and crazy carnival rides and speeding cars. They've no time for books and the knowledge they possessed, they've no time for the calm, simple things that used to be a common leisure.

The blond male, owner of the forbidden items, began to panic. His mind was flooding with a thousand words he couldn't voice all at once, and he couldn't even begin to fathom the horrific events that his eyes were recording.

"No, Stop!" He grabbed at the closest fireman, snagging him by the arm as his widened, fearful eyes fell upon the soot covered face. "Please! Don't do this! Do you have any clue to what you'll be burning? For once in your bloody life stop and _think_ about what you're doing!" Inside he knew that it was pointless to try and talk sense into any of these men, but he had to at least try. He had to at least voice his opinions as they destroyed all he had strived to achieve.

The smell of kerosene drifted to the top of the stairs from the basement below, causing Arthur to glance down toward his beloved, aged pages and covers. The men had already found the hundreds of books hidden behind the walls, and now was when he knew that their time was up.

_So long, books. You lasted your time and now it has ended. One day this silly war with you will be over and things can return to how they used to be._

Arthur released the fireman's arm and pushed his way past him, staring down the stairs and toward the books that were smothered with kerosene and trampling boots. One after one the glorious knowledge keepers fell to the ground where gallon after gallon of the strong smelling liquid suffocated them and drowned them with their own words.

The fireman who the Englishman had grabbed merely stared after him, remaining where he last stood as his mind swirled and tried to grasp at the words that were said toward him moments ago.

He knew what they were burning; he knew damn well what they were. Books. And a whole shit-ton of them to count. But those books were nothing but lies and filled with false information—nothing that the people of today had to worry about, what with the firemen doing their jobs and doing them correctly.

Alfred Jones opened his mouth to speak after the crazed Englishman, but then he closed it as the thoughts he was about to voice stopped flowing. He didn't know how to respond exactly to this… And so he didn't.

He saw how the man stood their, at the top of the basement steps, yelling and screaming down at the men who he thought were ignorant good-for-nothings. Soon the place would be a black, burnt corpse of what was once a neat little wooden house, but Alfred wouldn't allow for there to be a body going along with it to the ground.

The American reacted; his feet moving him forward one step after another until he found himself beside the distraught owner of the sanctuary soon to be burning below their feet. "You go down there and you'll die. I'm not watching you burn too." He grabbed hold of the man's arms, pulling him away toward the front door just as the other firemen were rushing out from the basement still spilling their kerosene all over the floor and stairs. They were creating a trail for the flames to follow.

The Englishman mustered up the dirtiest look he could toward the fireman dragging him away from the basement. _Oh! Look at that, a fireman with a heart!_ He thought bitterly to himself. Any of them could care less about what happened to the owner of all those illegal things as long as the 'lunatic' was far away from others so as not to plague their minds with his own 'faulty' logic.

"I'd rather burn with the knowledge I gained from the books than live blindly without them!" Arthur tried pulling out of the fireman's hold, but it was locked on pretty tightly and so his attempts became pointless. Despite the no hope of being released, he still fought against the hold and struggled as he pulled and yanked to try to free himself. "Let go of me, you ignorant bastard!"

_They_ wouldn't allow corrupt minds into their 'perfect' oasis and refuge from the real world. Meaning that Arthur couldn't live in this world with the knowledge he held. In the end he would more than likely be dead; whether it was burning alive with the books or rotting away in a holding cell. Either way he was alone and gone, removed from the situation to help fix the problem.

Alfred kept his grip on the struggling man tight as he continued dragging him away with ease, a frown tugging at his lips as he did so. A sad sight it was to see such a crazed man go bonkers over his silly books and aged pages. What was so special about them?

Once they were outside and a safe distance away from the coming flames, the American turned to the madman with a curious look glinting in his eyes. He was told that the knowledge that the books held was all corrupt lies meant to make them think and ponder and make them overall 'unhappy.' The government didn't want you to think, the government wanted you to live happy and carefree and away from any worries. Yet most of the people who Alfred met through his line of work all said the same thing—they all wanted to die with their knowledge, they all wanted to die with their books. Alfred couldn't understand why, but then again, he'd never been taught how to think and understand, only to do.

"Why do you want to die with all those old pages? What's so important about all that knowledge that makes you want to die with it?" The fireman's grip on the man never slackened.

Arthur watched as firemen poured out of his home, followed by a trail of kerosene that left their hoses and containers like a yellowed, dingy waterfall. It was a saddening sight, all this burning nonsense, and it was worse when it was _your_ home that was next to blaze.

Arthur shifted his gaze to the man still holding him, his eyes showing off the hurt and hatred that was currently coursing through his body. The man was asking a question that he was never going to understand the answer of.

"You want to know why?" Arthur scoffed, "Would you even understand if I told you? Of course you wouldn't! You want to know what's so important in those books? Read one!"

Read one? Alfred thought that over in his head. That was ridiculous. He'd get caught for sure, but the thought alone was beginning to sound tempting… All too tempting.

The smaller blond yanked away his arm, now out of the fireman's grasp, and scanned around. He was having enough of watching the scene around him and he needed to do something fast before it all fell apart further.

About that time, the rest of the firemen were out at a safe distance, getting ready to set the house, with all its illegal content, to flame. As one of the men fired up a match, Arthur moved himself, his feet carrying him, making him run, over to the man with the flame-starter. He grabbed onto his arm, gripping tightly, and screamed, "Stop!"

But it was too late. The match dropped from the fireman's hand, the shock of being suddenly grabbed causing him to release it, and so it fell close enough to spark the trail of kerosene to life, quickly, setting its course to the house in a blazing trail of sparks and flames.

It went up into a fiery inferno within seconds, and Arthur was stricken with sudden pain. Watching was almost just as bad as waiting, only seeing was a completely different take on it all.

The house was soon a mass of red and orange and yellow, burning and licking at all the illegal content and furniture held within its walls.

The American turned his head away, not wanting to see the house and not wanting to see the man whose life he'd just ruined. He'd done this time and time again, burned and destroyed, but this time was different, much different. The American, for awhile now, was beginning to grow bored of this thrill of firefighting—or fire-starting if one wanted to be technical about such a profession. It wasn't as grand as it used to be, and by God was he becoming more curious as the moments past. What was in these damn things, the books, that continued making people want to hoard them and die with them? He'd have to get his hands on one and read it. He had to find out what was so important about such a peculiar object.

He turned back to the truck, his eyes landing on the captain who was standing near it with his arms crossed over his chest. His face was impassive as he watched the flames go up and engulf the building, licking the inside of the walls as it burned it all down within the hour.

"Jones." The captain turned suddenly, having felt the younger man's eyes upon him.

"Yes sir?"

"We'll be heading out as soon as the police come and take this loon away." He gestured toward the man who was currently being held back by a fireman, and then turned away and headed over to one of the other firefighters. More than likely he was going to tell them the same thing as he told Alfred.

The Englishman stared at his home, books, and life which was now the start of a crumpled mess of nothing but char and charcoal beams, a mere pile of ash. His green eyes seemed to die along with the home as he fell to his knees and watched, unable to do anything but watch and stare. There in the distance his life was burning up right before his eyes. Within the hour he would have nothing left and the 'loon' would be sent away to unknown places for rehabilitation and correcting as if Arthur was some machine that they could fix with a few clicks. It wasn't him that needed the fixing, it was the world around him and there were other's like him—corrupt and unfit for society's approval.

Thinking of it all made the broken man angry. He could hear the sirens coming for him in the distance. The sound of their wailing like a child's cry in the silent night. It wouldn't be long now till he would be drug away for this so called 'help.'

The Englishman collected what was left of his pride and stood up with his own fire blazing in his eyes. He turned, looking toward the firemen all at once and screamed at them all, "What is wrong with you people? Are you happy with yourselves?—Wait! Don't answer that, stop and _think_ about it!" Arthur then looked directly at the fireman that had pulled him out of the house, saving him from a fiery death that he would have preferred. "You asked me what was so important in those books for my want to die with them?" He pointed a finger, jabbing at the blond man, "That wasn't the right question here to ask. How about you try this one on for size, sir? What's so important in those books for _Them_ to hide?"

The sirens finally reached their destination.

However, the American merely looked at the man when he was yelling at him, and thought about what it was he was saying. It was a valid point, one of which Alfred had never thought of before, but he didn't have an answer for the man. Not a single one at all as he watched the blond being taken away, packed into some police vehicle, and headed toward some unknown place.

The other firemen just shrugged off the man's words, finding them crazy and the works of a madman, but Alfred considered them.

He supposed that if those books were so dangerous, why did they even exist then? What was their purpose if they were a threat?

He shoved the thought away as his captain tapped him on the shoulder, signaling for him to come on so they could leave and head back to the station. He'd have to talk to Mathew about it all later and see what he had as an opinion. He needed a good one other than his own, since he was merely a fireman who was slowly going 'corrupt.'

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They took him away, the poor man. Away to a facility that was meant to help him, to cure him, to aid him. After all, that's all they wanted to do was help the man out of his madness so that he could be happy like the rest of them. After all, it was the government's job to keep the people happy and worry-free. It was the government's job to keep all peace together and have no war.

However, Arthur Kirkland wasn't one of those normal, happy people like everyone else. His home was burnable, he stayed home instead of going out, he would walk to most of the locations he needed to get to, and most of all he thought about things a little too much. All in comparison to the norm of fire-proof homes, going out to cause havoc on the streets and have 'fun', and driving at hundred hour speeds like the law required. There was something very wrong with the Englishman; he wasn't out having fun and being happy like everyone else was. He was inside with his books and pages enjoying himself just as much, if not more. It wasn't fair for Arthur and others like him. They were the outcasts, the social rejects, who were put before society as a sort of monster coming to steal their freedoms and funs.

Months had passed since that incident with the burning of the Englishman's home though, and within those months there was no helping the madman. The kind and helpful facility tried everything in its power to help him, to save him, but it never succeeded. None of their attempts worked. They tried therapy, but Arthur's mind was to 'corrupt' to listen to reason. They tried medication, but the man would spit it back out or throw it back up to get it out of his system. In the end they would resort to injections to get the medication in, but even that didn't seem to help the corrupt man's mind. He still thought, and he still fought with all his might. The thing that they did find out was that the Englishman's intelligence was higher then average. That was part of the problem to his madness. That was a bad thing to have in such a screwed up world—a man that was smart to go along with his madness.

They finally realized that there was no normal means of helping for such an insane man that thought too much, so they took the extreme route of fixing it; a disability.

If Arthur thought too much then they could fix that with a small radio-like device placed in his ear that sent out a sharp noise every twenty to thirty seconds to stop him from over thinking things. If the Englishman were to remove this disability at any time longer then fifteen seconds, it would alert the authorities and he would be sent back to the facility without any chance of getting out. It was merely a prototype though, a first version that was about to be set to work to fix such a crazy man and help rid him of his ailing madness. Not only that but it was an experiment, something to be tested out to see if it could be put to use on others' to help them as well.

O~O~O

Within those passing months, Alfred himself became more and more curious about things and began to ask more questions. His brother got the blunt of it though, being the victim to all his questions and bothers day and night. One particular day though was when Mathew accidentally let his secret loose to his sibling. A secret he had been keeping from a fireman for years and years still in counting.

They were talking, the brother's, sitting in the Canadian's room on his bed with Alfred asking the questions and Mathew answering best he could. When Al leaned back onto his brother's pillow, letting out a sigh and a grumbled noise of protest about something the other blond had said to him, he felt something weird under the pillow. Something hard, and something square-ish—a very peculiar object.

The American sat upright and reached a hand underneath, and about that time Mathew, having realized what was going on, tried to stop his hand but was too late.

What Alfred pulled out was a book. A sleek, black, leather-bound book with the title of it engraved onto its cover with neat, gold letters. The American was interested at first, but then horrified instantly after.

"Let me explain before you flip out." Mathew rushed out, trying to get his words out before the other male could cut in and jump to conclusions. He reached over and snagged the book free from his twin's hands, clutching it tightly to his chest and giving his brother a rather fearful look. "I got these from Mother, a long time ago before she passed. That last visit? That was when she gave them too me. She knew I liked to read." He let the book go and instead held it gently in his palms, the title facing upward toward him. When he was about to speak, Alfred stopped him with his own voice.

"I want to read it."

"What?" Mathew was taken aback.

Alfred repeated, slower, "I want to read it."

"But you'r—"

"So? I want to read it, Mathew." Alfred reached over and took the book gingerly, his brother giving it up without a struggle. "I'm not a moron. I don't care if you're hiding books. I mean I'm terrified of being caught, sure, but I'd never turn you in. You're family and this is our home, I'd never want to see that burn. Besides, the captain would make _me_ burn my own home down and I don't want that…"

O~O~O

Now, released from the facility with the disability in place at his ear, Arthur found himself homeless and being unable to think clearly—that didn't help his situation any. How did they expect him to be 'happy' when he had nothing? Not even a clear mind to help himself out of this bad situation. If they thought the Englishman was going mad before, they would have to see him now! He was positively bonkers now.

The poor man was miserable, having to seek places to sleep safely in homeless shelters and having the trouble of finding food to survive off of. The streets were dangerous with wild teens that would cause havoc and destruction, and drivers going at racing speeds down every street, highway, and avenue. All the while in this crazed world Arthur couldn't think with that damn disability in his ear screaming at him every twenty to thirty seconds.

Arthur was currently sitting on a bench in a nature park—one of the few that still existed in the town. Most of them were torn down and replaced with fun parks or demolition parks; something that was fun and distracting.

It was a small place however, but it would make due.

It was nice and relaxing, but the only thing ruining this for the Englishman was that bloody high pitched radio echoing in his ear that kept him from enjoying this peace! He couldn't take it for much longer. It would be worth taking it out—or perhaps even stepping out onto the streets for a nice little 'stroll.' Then all the noises would go away with one hit by a car and all he would have left would be the sweet silence.

The pitched noise came on cue, causing Arthur to flinch and stop his train of thoughts on suicide and peace. He clamped shut his eyes and held his head tight in his hands, wishing for it all too just end.

O~O~O

Around that time that Arthur arrived to the bench and sat, Alfred, after he had bothered his brother enough to cause him a headache at most, found himself walking to clear his mind and think things over. Thinking was bad, and he knew it, but he couldn't help it and he found himself wondering about every possible thing he could. Why did the speed limit hike up to one hundred miles an hour being the lowest possible? Why were the school days for children only as short as an hour as the children were crammed with 'educational' videos and lessons? Why did the government want the people to be so damn happy?

The American knew that something wrong was going on with the people running their lives, the government they all placed their trust in so easily, but alas, he was a little too late to be jumping on that bandwagon with the rest of the gang.

As he thought, he walked, and he soon found himself in a nature park—one of few remaining.

As he walked along the pathway, he noticed a man sitting alone on a bench. Tempting as it was to just keep walking, Alfred decided against it and so ended up sitting at the man's side upon the bench. He looked up, watching the clouds in the sky loll around aimlessly as the man beside him had yet to notice he was there.

Arthur's mind was elsewhere.

Another high pitched noise was sent into his brain, followed by wincing and the aftermath that was filled with dull ringing. He didn't even notice the man now sitting next to him as he continued to hold his head in frustration. Arthur couldn't think anymore, he had to act, to make it all end. He would only need twenty seconds to make the choice. Twenty seconds. Nineteen. Eighteeen. Seventeen. It entered into his brain quickly. Fifteen. _End it all, end it all, end it all, end it all_! Thirteen. Twelve. All he would have to do was stand up and walk without any thought into it. Nine. Eight. Seven…

Time was running out and fast!

He took a beep breath and released his head, straightening his back and was about to stand when he finally noticed the man next to him. The Englishman looked over at the other blond, recognizing him… But from where? Who was he? The face was familiar, but a name wasn't following it up, nor was a place of meeting falling into the pieces.

That sharp noise finally came, snapping into his head and jumbling his thoughts once more. A wince, and then a shake to the head so as to try to clear the fog that had began to settle like before.

He looked away from the other blond, forgetting what exactly he was doing and what it was he was thinking of before the noise entered his brain and muddled things. A vehicle from afar raced past on the visible highway. His last thought had something to do with a car, right?


End file.
